


a normal week in salem

by wilfre



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilfre/pseuds/wilfre
Summary: the events of an average game.





	a normal week in salem

> _Night One_

Sarah Wildes sighed, setting down her pen and will on her bedside table. She flicked off her lamp, got into bed, and snuggled up under the covers. It was a chilly night in Salem. She couldn’t wait to step out into the town square tomorrow and feel the sun on her skin; William Hobbs had remarked it was supposed to be a nice day. She smiled at the thought. Though her and William never really had anything in depth to talk about, she always liked chatting with him. She considered him a pretty good friend, in fact.

Crunch.

Her breath hitched. Someone must’ve stepped on a twig outside.

“No, no,” she reasoned to herself, slipping a little farther under the covers, “it’s fine.. Probably just an animal.”

She heard her door open.

Definitely not an animal.

“He–Hello?” she shakily called out, finding a bit of courage within her. “Who’s there?”

She was answered with a barrel of a gun to her face, and she screamed into the night.

 

 

> _Day Two_

Edward Bishop awoke to the sound of screaming, and he was more disgruntled than disturbed.

“First the jailor interrogates me all night, and now this?” he grumbled, sitting up and stuffing his will into his pocket before briefly trying (and failing) to fix his haphazard appearance and heading out into the town.

His eyes widened as the reality of the situation sunk in; William Hobbs was kneeling next to a body, wailing in anguish as the rest of the town appeared.

“It’s Sarah!” he shouted, tears and snot dribbling down his face, “Sarah’s dead!” He had blood on his hands, and a bit smeared on his face, from when he no doubt inspected the wound in shock and tried to fix her up. The town shared awkward, yet sympathetic glances.

“James,” one townie said softly to himself, and the others turned to glance at him. “James Russel,” he repeated a bit louder, then turned to look at James himself. “HE DID IT!”

James stepped back a bit, throwing his hands up. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A bead of sweat started to form on his forehead. It was a nice day, indeed.

“I’m the Lookout,” the townie, Thomas Danforth, hissed, pointing at James in accusation, “and I saw you visit Sarah last night! You killed her!”

“No – No I didn’t!” James shot back. “You must be an Executioner, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Then who _did_ you visit last night? Huh? What are you?”

James remained silent, lips pursed together, as he looked around for support.

“Yeah, kinda sounds like Thomas is an Executioner,” Dorothy Good piped up, and James released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“What?” Thomas exclaimed. “You – You believe that flummery?! He won’t even claim! He –  He killed Sarah! I saw him!”

A majority of the town stared at him in disbelief, some muttering to themselves.

“He – He, he, he he–” Thomas spluttered, “HE’S MAFIA!”

“Let it go, Thomas,” Abigail Hobbs murmured, a hint of a forlorn tone in her voice. “We.. We don’t have time for this. Let’s go bury Sarah.”

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, but seeing as he was getting nowhere, sighed and let himself relax (as much as he could at that point). “Fine,” he grumbled, “let’s do this.”

 

* * *

 

The town held a burial and memorial for Sarah, which lasted until the evening. Before she was buried, they found out she was an Investigator, but found her will blank. After the memorial, the townies started to head home.

James Russel felt a tap on his shoulder before he could make it beyond the graveyard.

“Come with me,” a stern voice ordered him, and he was lead to the town’s jail.

 

 

> _Night Two_

“I didn’t do it–”

“Cut the flummery,” the Jailor interrupted, slamming his hands on the table. “I know you’re a Mafia dirtbag. But.. Maybe if you tell me the names of your little teammates I’ll take it easy on you.”

“Never,” James scowled, and spat on the Jailor’s shoes. The Jailor blankly stared at him for a moment before reaching into his holster.

“Goodbye, James.”

A single shot rang out into the night.

 

 

> _Day Three_

The next morning was relatively normal; as normal as a morning in Salem could be. There were no bodies besides James, who, _surprise_ , turned out to be a Mafioso.

“I told you all!” Thomas hollered excitedly, “I’m not an Executioner! I was right!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dorothy dismissed. “We know.”

“Say, Dorothy,” Mary Eastey piped up. “You were awfully quick to defend James yesterday and call Thomas an Executioner….. What are you?”

Raised eyebrows and suspicious glances came Dorothy’s way.

“It’s none of your business,” she retorted, crossing her arms and turning away. “I’ll tell the Jailor.”

“No.. I think you should tell the whole town,” Lydia Dustin added. “Right now.”

“I _said_ it’s none of your business,” Dorothy repeated. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Let’s put her on trial!” Edward Bishop declared, and the town murmured in agreement. They voted her up to the gallows, and William Hobbs agreed to be the hangman, if need be.

“Fine!” Dorothy growled. “You got me! I’m Mafia. What else do you want me to say?”

The town whispered to one another, trying to decide the verdict. Cotton Mather, Alice Parker, and Deodat Lawson all shared an inconspicuous, knowing glance.

“Who votes guilty?” William asked.

A majority of the town raised their hands.

“Innocent?”

Only Cotton Mather raised his hand. With that, William stood Dorothy up on the stool and slipped the noose over her head.

“Any last words?” he asked, as was custom.

“Yes, in fact.” She smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’ll get my revenge from the grave.”

Chilled by these words, William hesitated before kicking the stool out from under her. Despite the whole ordeal, Dorothy just smiled. And she didn’t stop.

After he was sure she was dead, he carefully searched her pockets.

“No uhh.. No weapons,” he announced. “And her will just says ‘Gotcha’.”

A state of unease settled among the town.

“I’m.. I’m gonna head in early tonight,” William said, stepping down from the gallows and wiping his brow.

“Err, goodnight!” Samuel Sewall called after him as the other man walked towards his house. He glanced up; the sun was high in the sky. “Or afternoon, rather. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.”

 

 

> _Night Three_

William had decided to sleep and sleep until he couldn’t sleep anymore. By the time he woke up, it was the dead of night, and he doubted any townies would be pleased to be investigated at this hour. He decided to stay in.

“I’m such a lousy excuse for a Sheriff,” he mumbled to himself, head in his hands. “All I do is bother the townies.. I can’t find any evildoers, and I certainly can’t put a stop to any of them either..”

His thoughts plagued him as he sat there in the dark, leeching away his energy and motivation. But the last straw?

Dorothy Good.

He stood, shuffled into the kitchen, and opened his knife drawer.

 

* * *

 

“Well, I wanna try to get some sleep in my own bed tonight, so I’m gonna let you off early,” the Jailor decided. He stood up from his chair with a great huff, and unlocked the door to the cell. “Stay out of trouble, y’hear?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” John Hathorne cooly replied, stretching before exiting the cell. The Jailor gathered his belongings and headed for the door. The two paused as they tried to fit through the doorway at the same time.

“After you,” John insisted, and the Jailor gave a simple nod of gratitude.

He felt an odd pressure and then a searing pain in his back; he dropped his belongings and crumpled to the floor.

“Wha–”

He felt himself being dragged by the feet back into the building. Again, he felt the pressure and heat, but now in several spots on his body.

“Help,” he called faintly, barely audible, as darkness began tinting the edges of his vision.

“No one’s coming to help you,” John whispered in his ear, before holding the Jailor’s head up by his hair and slitting his throat. “Maybe you’ll get some sleep in your own bed in the afterlife.”

 

* * *

 

“Come on, hurry up! We’re behind schedule!”

“Jeez, I’m coming! Hold your horses!”

Cotton Mather and Deodat Lawson arrived at the town’s jail.

“Quiet,” Cotton ordered, sneaking up to the front door. “He might even be sleeping.”

Gently, he pushed open the door and squinted into the darkness.

“The lights are all off,” he reported to Deodat. “I’m gonna turn them on. Get ready.”

He reached around for a lightswitch, and when he found it, he wished he hadn’t.

He nearly vomited as he saw the mutilated body of the Jailor. I mean, sure, he was a murderer himself, but at least he had standards! This was just preposterous!

“Boss, you alrig– Oh, tarnation.”

Deodat dry heaved a bit as well, leaning against the wall for support.

“Jesus. I don’t even wanna touch him.”

“Well you have to!” Cotton barked, shaking off the feeling of disgust and putting on a bold facade. He used his foot to roll the body over onto its back. “Eugh.”

Deodat hesitantly reached into the Jailor’s pockets and pulled out his will and any other identification–

_Boom!_

“What the hell, man?!” Deodat exclaimed, jumping away from the body, which the Godfather had shot.

“Have to make sure he’s dead,” Cotton explained.

“Uh, could you not tell from the dozen stab wounds?!”

“Whatever. Just help me carry him out.”

 

 

> _Day Four_

“William?”

Edward Bishop continued knocking on his neighbor’s door. It was unlike him to sleep in this late.

“Hey, man, the whole town’s already up. You alright?”

Still no answer. Not even the faintest footsteps; nothing to signal that William was coming out any time soon.

“Uhh, I’m coming in, okay?”

He gently opened the door.

Living room? Empty.

Kitchen? Empty.

Bedroom? Empty.

Which only left one more place to check..

Edward knocked before he opened the bathroom door.

And was greeted by the sight of William with his wrists and throat slit by his own hand.

 

* * *

 

The town had two bodies to bury that day; William’s, a Sheriff, and an unidentifiable townie. They only knew him by name: Samuel Sewall. They couldn’t find a will or any hints to what he was in life.

A disturbing fact was brought to light by Samuel’s death: There was a Serial Killer among them, as shown by the gruesome stab wounds on his body.

Ann Sears had a feeling she could crack this mystery.

 

 

> _Night Four_

Guided by moonlight, Ann snuck out into the graveyard. She settled by Samuel Sewall’s burial site and had her will at the ready.

“Sam?” she whispered.

“A Medium? Oh, thank God,” came Samuel’s relieved echo of a reply. “Ann? Is that you?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, growing restless and shifting positions excitedly. “Yes, it’s me! Talk to me, Sam.”

“Ann, I was the Jailor. John Hathorne killed me.”

“John?” she gasped, pausing mid-writing to put her hand over her mouth. “Jeez.. I thought he was a good guy…”

“So did I,” he scoffed, “until he stabbed me in the back. Literally.”

“Well, not to worry,” Ann promised, standing up and dusting off her skirt. “I’ve got this all written down. I’ll tell the town tomorrow. Justice will be served. But, I should get going now. I’ve got what I needed – what the whole town needs, really – and I’m super tired.”

“Goodnight!” Samuel called, and the voices of Sarah and William joined in.

“Goodnight, Ann!”

“Get out there and kick pillion!”

She smiled as she gathered her things and exited the graveyard, enjoying the cool breeze as she started her walk home.

But, only a few steps in, and one hand clamped over her mouth, the other around her waist, and she was dragged back into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

“No use trying to lay low now that the whole town knows there’s a Serial Killer,” John Hathorne grumbled to himself as he gathered his supplies. He opened the front door–

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” John jumped back, startled by Lydia Dustin waiting outside. “Wha–What do you want? Don’t scare me like that.”

“Just a bit of your time, mister,” she said with a sly smirk, putting a finger on his chest and backing him up into the house. She closed the door behind them.

“Listen.” John started to sweat as he was led into his bedroom. “I’ve got flummery to do, so, if you could, um, _not_ be here right now, that’d be gre–”

“Shhh.” Lydia put a finger over his lips and gently pushed him onto the bed. “Relax. Take the night off.” She pouted as she straddled him, pushing the hair out of his eyes and cupping his face in her hands. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“My name is John.”

“It’s an expression.”

“Whatever. I’m definitely not dull.” A wicked grin started to spread across his face. “In fact.. I’m pretty sharp.”

“Mhm? Prove it– Oh!”

Lydia sat up, clutching the knife that was driven deep into her abdomen.

“Wh.. What.. I–”

She screamed as the knife was yanked out and she was pushed over onto her back, the blade now plunging into her heart.

“Now I’m on top,” John whispered, twisting the knife and watching the light in her eyes begin to go out.

 

 

> _Day Five_

Nothing too eventful happened that day. To John’s _extreme_ relief, Lydia’s will stopped after night three. A second townie, Ann Sears, was found dead, with no will or other identification.

The town was dwindling by the minute, and nobody had the slightest clue who to blame.

 

 

> _Night Five_

“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man... I don’t know. Somethin’ good.”

Edward Bishop snuggled up under his warm blankets. No night duty, nothing to worry about.

Not even a minute after getting cozy, there was a knock on his door. He grumbled irritably to himself as he threw the covers off and stomped towards the front door.

“What is i–”

He fell backwards after the shocking, piercing pain of a bullet going through his chest. The attacker had shot through the door before he even had the chance to open it, and could be heard running off into the night.

“Oh, tarnation,” he wheezed, trying to put pressure on the wound, but his hands were too shaky and weak. He could feel himself starting to lose consciousness. He barely registered his door practically being kicked open.

“I’m here!” a voice reassured, right in front of him, yet it seemed so far away..

There was a loud _clunk_ of a box of medical supplies being set on the floor. Edward felt a faint sting of a disinfectant on his wound.

“Stay with me,” the voice said, with a hint of desperation.

“I’m sleep,” Edward thought before drifting off.

 

 

> _Day Six_

“You okay?” Abigail Hobbs asked, supporting Edward’s weight as she led him out of the house.

“I am now, thanks to you.” He flashed a grin that was cheesier than James Russel’s doodle.

“Aw.” She blushed, making an ‘oh, you’ gesture. “It’s nothing. I’m a Doctor, it’s what I do!”

The town was already out and about, chatting amongst themselves in the town square.

“Abigail healed me!” Edward announced. Thomas Danforth paused in thought.

“Wait… Wait, wait wait– Wait, wait. Wait… That means..” He frantically pulled out his will, rereading night five. “I watched Edward last night. He was visited by Abigail, and..”

He dramatically wheeled around and pointed at Cotton Mather.

“YOU!”

“I’m Bodyguard,” Cotton deflected flatly. “Shut up, Executioner.”

“If you’re Bodyguard, you would’ve killed whoever tried to attack Edward,” Mary Eastey hissed, “and there would’ve been a third person in the Lookout’s will. You tried to kill Edward.”

“Trial!” the town cried, and Cotton was quickly put up to the gallows.

“I’ve said my defense,” he grunted, “I’m a Bodyguard.”

“Where’s your will!”

“I don’t keep one.”

“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”

Deodat Lawson awkwardly raised his hand.

“I dunno, I kinda think he’s innocent.”

A majority of the town voted guilty. Edward, being the new hangman, slipped the noose around Cotton’s neck.

“Any last words?”

“Plant a flower.”

Edward narrowed his eyes and kicked the stool out from under the other man.

 

 

> _Night Six_

A rather successful day, in Mary Eastey’s opinion. They successfully lynched a Mafia member.

She cocked her gun.

And tonight she would take out another.

 

* * *

 

“Open up, I’m selling cookies!”

Knock knock. Mary stood patiently outside Deodat’s door.

“Deodat, get out here you child born out of wedlock!”

Deodat, unsurprisingly, did not get out there.

“Alright. Fine. See you tomorrow, then.” She turned around and started to walk away. Deodat cautiously peeked out from behind his curtains and prayed she wouldn’t come back. He nearly screamed as she suddenly did a 360, charged, and broke his door down.

“Stay back!” he warned, brandishing his mop and pointing the freshly sharpened end at her. He was new to the whole Mafioso thing. Cotton was “buried” (just tossed into a grave without a coffin, really) with his gun, and Deodat hadn’t gotten the chance to get a new one just yet.

“Look who brought a mop to a gun fight.”

“Who?”

Mary stared at him blankly for a second, then proceeded to shoot him point blank in the face.

 

* * *

 

Alice Parker tried desperately to catch her breath as she shut her front door behind her.

Okay, so she was the only Mafia left. She could manage. Maybe.

She began walking toward the bathroom to wash the blood off herself, but heard a knock that made her freeze.

“Oh God, please don’t be a Sheriff.”

Hesitantly, she turned around, doing a silent prayer before opening the door.

“Hello?” She peeked out, but there was no one there. “Okay, very funny.”

She shut the door and turned back around, yelping as she bumped into a figure that was certainly not there before.

“W-What the–”

The figure pushed her against the wall and cupped his hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he ordered. She screamed into his hand as he pulled out a nearly 10 inch blade.

“Any last unintelligible noises?” he asked as she continued to wail. “Oh, well. I don’t care anyway.” In one swift movement, he plunged the knife straight through her abdomen and into the wall, trapping her.

“I’ll see you around,” he called after her as he made his exit. He took a final look at her grasping at the handle of the knife in panic, getting weaker and weaker as she rapidly lost blood. “Or not.”

 

 

> _Day Seven_

Seven townspeople had gone to bed the previous night, but only four woke up. Mary Eastey, Edward Bishop, Thomas Danforth, and John Hathorne.

After a bit of investigating and rifling through pockets, the town discovered the following: Abigail Hobbs was a Doctor, Alice Parker was a Forger, and Deodat Lawson was a Janitor turned Mafioso.

“I think I know who the Serial Killer is,” John announced, already sweating a bit from the stunt he was about to pull. “Since I’m a Vigilante, Thomas is a Lookout, and Edward is.. Well, I’m not sure, actually–”

“Spit it out already!” Thomas barked.

“It’s Mary.”

“What?!” Mary exclaimed. “I’M the Vigilante! I just shot Deodat!”

“No, I did,” John shot back. “I claimed first.”

“Are we having a trial?” Edward asked. “I vote Mary.”

“What the–” Mary spluttered,  “Edward, what the h–”

“I also vote Mary,” Thomas added.

John raised his hand. “Third and final vote. Get up there, girl.”

To her dismay, Mary was led up to the gallows. “I’m the Vigilante,” she insisted, angrily pulling her arm from Edward’s grip. Her eyes glinted with fear as she saw the noose in front of her.

“I–I’ve said my defense. John is lying. I’m the real Vigilante. You guys really believe him?” When the town continued to look unconvinced, she screamed, “You zounderkites! I’m innocent!”

Edward winced. “Yeah, I’m gonna have to vote guilty.”

Thomas raised his hand. “Same here.”

With a smirk, John raised his hand as well. “Sorry, Mary.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Wh–What?” Mary cried as Edward slipped the noose around her neck. “No, no, no, no, WAIT–”

Without warning, the stool was kicked from under her. They watched as she briefly struggled before accepting her fate.

Edward gingerly reached into her pocket, and he froze in place as he pulled out a gun. But John was already slinking off to his house.

 

 

> _Night Seven_

“Oh, God,” Thomas groaned to himself, setting down his shot glass. “This is it. Tarnation.”

He groaned even louder in response to a knock on the door. “Just come in and kill me already, I don’t care.”

“Well, if you insist.” John Hathorne waltzed in. “How’s it hangin?” He took a look at Thomas, slumped against the wall surrounded by empty bottles of liquor. “Not so good, I take it.”

“You really think?”

“You’re so miserable right now, I almost don’t wanna kill you…” John smirked, pulling a knife from his back pocket. “But isn’t the best thing to do in these situations to put a person out of their misery?”

 

 

> _Day Eight_

John walked out into the town square with a flummery-eating grin. Now there was no reason to put up the townie act. It was almost over.

“Good morning Edward!” he called out. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

As Edward came into view, John immediately frowned at how his neighbor didn’t look totally hopeless and defeated. In fact, the little fellmonger even had a bit of a spring to his step.

“Alright, you old coot. What gives? Why aren’t you cowering on your knees and begging for your life?”

“My schedule won’t allow it.”

John squinted.

“What are you on about?”

“There’s something you didn’t realize while you were busy running around on your killing spree.”

John was beginning to get a bit nervous, though he’d never admit it. “And what’s that?”

Edward Bishop slowly, for dramatic effect, reached into his coat and pulled out a glimmering badge. And John Hathorne prayed that he read it wrong.

“No..” he murmured in disbelief, his mouth going dry. “You’re not.. That’s a fake badge, you–you can’t be–”

“Mayor? I assure you, John, it’s all real. Now I’m going to have to ask you to come up to the stand with m–”

“NO WAY!” John shrieked, reaching into all his pockets and desperately reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. The one day he left them at home.

The town began to spin around him as he lost control, attempting to kill the Mayor with his bare hands. However, despite his age, Edward had more strength than John bargained for. Their little tussle ended with Edward restraining John and dragging him up to the gallows. John kicked and screamed the whole way there. Edward wasted no time in securing the noose around his neck, nearly tightening it to the point of asphyxiation.

“I’ll kill you!” John hissed, his voice scratchy and strained as he desperately flailed around in the attempt to hit the other man. “I’ll kick your pillion! You codswallop! I’ll–”

He slipped off the stool, and there was a sickening crack as his neck was broken.

Edward blankly stared at him in shock for a moment. After recovering (as much as someone can in 5 seconds after seeing something like that), he glanced around at the empty town square. He thought of all his fellow townies, and hell, even the Mafia. They were all gone.

“Well.” He put his hands on his hips. “Time to find a new town.”


End file.
